Achilles Waits
by ladybug114
Summary: "He knows that this is the underworld. He is a shade now, he needs only to approach Charon's boat and be taken to Asphodel, or Elysium, or wherever the gods see fit to put him. But he cannot. Not yet. Patroclus, he thinks, and then he says it, "Pa-tro-clus," like stones falling into a well."


**A/N: Originally posted on Ao3. Warning for canon character death**

He always wondered what death would feel like. And the truth is, it doesn't feel like anything. One moment he is standing, hearing the arrow come, welcoming it, and the next…

He knows that this is the underworld. He is a shade now, he needs only to approach Charon's boat and be taken to Asphodel, or Elysium, or wherever the gods see fit to put him. But he cannot.

Not yet.

 _Patroclus_ , he thinks, and then he says it, "Pa-tro-clus," like stones falling into a well. Patroclus should be here, should be waiting for him, but he is not. There are no other shades waiting on the shore.

Only him.

He knows that Patroclus would not have crossed the river without him, so he waits. Something must have happened, some delay, but Patroclus would be coming. And then they would have the rest of eternity together, and everything would be as it should be.

So Achilles waits.

OoOoO

Time is different in the underworld, he soon realizes. He does not know how much time is passing, a second or an hour or a year or a century. He watches the other shades, passing into eternal punishment or eternal reward or eternal boredom. Some try to wait, as he is waiting, but they are forced into the boat.

He does not know why he is allowed to remain, and he does not care.

He waits, and he watches.

He wants to speak to one of the others, find out how much time has passed, but he does not recognize any of them, and has no way to know if they will even speak to him. He wonders if anyone he once knew will appear, or if they are dead already.

Some time later, he does not know how long, he sees one. A shade, familiar to him.

He calls out to it, "Odysseus!"

The shade turns, and Achilles sees that he was right. It is Odysseus, old now, but his eyes are as bright and clever in death as they were in life.

"Achilles," Odysseus says, and he looks weary, beaten down by life.

"How long has it been?"

Odysseus almost laughs. "Since your death? Or mine?" Achilles doesn't respond, and Odysseus's smile drops. "I died almost 40 years after you. Not sure how long I've been here."

"Patroclus," Achilles says, his voice agonized, "Why isn't Patroclus here?"

For the first time, Odysseus looks apologetic. "I'm sorry," he says, practically whispers it. "I tried."

For the first time since his death, Achilles feels something. "Where. Is. He," he practically snarls, leaning in closer to Odysseus. "Did you ignore my wishes?"

Odysseus sighs, and Achilles remembers how much time has really passed, how old Odysseus really is. "I tried," he says again. "Your ashes were mixed with his, like you said. But then…" He pauses, as if afraid to speak. "It was your son," he says, finally. "He refused to put Patroclus's name on the tomb beside yours."

The anger drains from Achilles swiftly, leaving emptiness and grief behind. "No," he says, knowing what that fact means. Without the honor that the dead deserve, Patroclus will be tied to the earth as a shade, unable to travel to the underworld.

Odysseus opens his mouth, perhaps to offer some comfort, but then another shade drags him away, as so many others have been dragged away.

Achilles does not care.

Achilles stays.

OoOoO

Conscious thought starts to disappear after that. He knows that he is waiting for something, but he no longer knows why. He knows only that he has to stay, that he cannot cross the river yet.

He ignores the other shades now, not bothering to look for one he might recognize. They are of no consequence to him.

He becomes lethargic, standing on the shoreline without moving for long periods of time. He does not know how long he has been there, and he no longer cares. Occasionally, a word will pierce the fog of his mind, but it is always gone by the time he becomes aware of it.

He knows that he is dead, and he knows that he was once glad to be so. He is not sure why, why he wanted to live this monotonous existence for all eternity.

Time continues to pass, and still he stands and waits.

OoOoO

He is dead, but suddenly, for the first time, there is warmth and there is light.

Awareness comes flooding back, in the form of a single word, staying this time, echoing in his brain, reminding him what-who-he is waiting for.

Patroclus.

A shade approaches the shore, moving slowly, as if unsure of its path.

The underworld is dark and cold, but this figure is the opposite. Achilles knows then that the time has come, that he is done waiting.

"Patroclus!" he calls, and the figure turns.

"Achilles," it whispers, and then it is running, and Achilles is running too.

They meet, but they do not touch. They simply stare, drinking each other in, relishing in each other's presence. "I have waited for you," Achilles says, staring Patroclus in the eye, "for many years."

"I know," Patroclus says, and his eyes are tired. "I have been waiting too."

"Well then, let us wait no more," Achilles says, and he watches as Patroclus's eyes brighten. They grasp hands, and the underworld is lit with bright rays of sunshine.

They cross the river together, and they never look back.


End file.
